Just Another Drop
by mrpink33
Summary: Alfred, never one to be late, ends up a day early for a conference in England. Finding himself with no place to stay he has no choice but to stay with Arthur. Though he has a hang over, and no interest in an aquarium, he lets Alfred spend the night.


kay, so I'd prefer this not to suck x) so heres to hoping it goes alright! huzzahhhhhh. Yeah so anyway, it wasn't until i was reviewing it that I realized it might be a little choppy at times ant that there were a lot of typos here and there, if there are any I missed...sorry, I tried.

I also realized that there are quite a few references to ave.q and a french joke or two...okay maybe one but thats okay! theres plenty more in the world...

I also realized how much i would love to hear Alfred say "but Arthur, the _profits" _x)

enjoy :D

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><p>The difference between Arthur and Alfred as people is that Arthur could remember anything.<p>

Arthur remembered things from the time Alfred's childhood that Alfred couldn't even remember.

But that's the same as any parent; any parent could remember anything their child does when they are young.

If a three year old is taken to the zoo or an aquarium, it isn't very likely that they'd remember it in say five to ten years.

So it goes without saying that Alfred wouldn't quite remember cutting up the union jack to make people holding hands...Arthur remembers though...

Arthur will remember almost anything from the time he was raising Alfred.

He sat now smiling to himself; he held that time close to his heart.

He sat now on his couch, Victorian style like the rest of the room, a glass of scotch in his hand, staring idly into the fire place. He'd been doing so for almost an hour or so, only moving to bring the glass to his lips.

Only when he was drinking would he allow himself to indulge in the favored memories of Alfred. That was the only time he could convince himself that it wasn't a terribly horrible and dangerous idea. The next morning he would always remember that it was though.

He took another sip from the tumbler and made an attempt to stand to put another log on the dyeing fire. He only got to a sitting position before his vision was swirling. He made a noise of aggravation and clamped his eyes shut before sitting back.

The defenses in his brain were disarmed by alcohol, and the thoughts and memories of Alfred through the years; as a child, a teenager, and that as his friend, as America. A young man, full of life, strong, fit, and good hearted, Alfred, his Alfred.

No matter what anyone said, no matter what documents were drawn up, who was there, who he was with, Alfred would be his.

He had to open his eyes; images of Alfred had begun to flash on the back of his eyelids like an old movie screen. He knew them well, decades ago he'd seen a movie with Alfred, the strips of film were choppy and disconnected, but it had a strange sense of continuity despite it.

He liked the movie, an old fashioned classic black and white, and if asked now he could tell anyone what it was about, but in reality he was barely watching the movie, he'd been watching Alfred from the corner of his eye.

The slob was stuffing popcorn in his mouth excessively. He had salt and butter on his fingers, and licked his lips every other minute.

His blue eyes had been fixed on the screen, and the picture was reflecting off the surface of his glasses. It was the first day he'd seen Alfred wearing his bomber jacket, Arthur thought it looked nice kinda, but he told Alfred it looked stupid.

Every now and then during the movie Alfred would laugh to himself and smile.

Arthur couldn't help but feel himself heat up, or feel his heart beat faster then. It had been a while be.

It had been a while before he calmed down enough to enjoy the movie.

He admitted to himself it was a good movie, he would never tell Alfred how good his movies were or how much he enjoyed their nights when Alfred would invite him to one of the openings of his new blockbusters.

He loved the movies, but he'd never tell Alfred.

Once he'd been enjoying it though he felt a tugging on his sleeve. He turned, first to the hand then to the buttery American face.

Alfred was touching his sleeve, eyes still focused on the shining slashing screen, jaw moving mechanically. He was holding some popcorn towards him, what was left of it anyway. Alfred turned his head and smiled before turning it back towards the screen continuing to watch the movie, leaving Arthur to eat his popcorn.

Arthur looked around the room, nearly everything that caught his eye rung of Alfred.

The books Alfred had looked at astonished not believing that Arthur had read them all, Arthur had told him that if he ever wanted to he could read any one he'd like.

He took one, read the first page and tossed it back to Arthur looking through the shelf again for something more interesting to him.

"That one sounds boring."

Exasperated Arthur looked at the cover, pride and prejudice, of course, just like Alfred to dislike a piece of literature so memorable.

Alfred went through half the shelves with similar responses to nearly all the Shakespeare works, bypassing numerous Jane Eyre stories, even scoffing at Edgar Allen Poe.

"Jeez don't you have any exciting books?"

Arthur proceeded to push him aside and insist that they were all very interesting and exciting, and that he just didn't have the mental capacity to understand any of them.

Looking back he always felt that he'd been too cruel to him; he should have sat him down and explained the excitement in Julius Cesar, its complexity, clandestine affairs and its betrayal.

He should have sat Alfred down on this very couch and read to him some exciting passages before letting him read it himself. He should have pointed out the belief systems, and motifs, he should have explained to him the complicated emotions in the story, and their reasons. He should have taught him about emotions and feeling.

His head fell to the side looking to the empty seat on the couch next to him. There was no dent of usage; it was as if it had just been bought. He wished that it was worn and softened and indented by now. He wished he wasn't so lonely.

He liked the thought that Alfred would make it that way that Alfred would make it that way that Alfred would sit next to him at twelve thirty at night. Pry his drink from his fingers and place it down on the wooden table next to him.

That Alfred would turn around back to him and envelope him in his arms, that he'd take his legs and he'd cradle his neck and that he'd take him off to his bed.

Arthur longed for it.

He longed for Alfred to remove his jacket and shoes, to take off his belt and leave them on the behind, to lay him on his bed. But these were Arthur's longings, not Alfred's.

Arthur couldn't know if Alfred longed to climb into bed with him, he couldn't know if he too longed to have his hands pressed against the other, if he longed to join their lips, if he longed to lavish their bodies in soft kisses and touches.

He couldn't know if Alfred lusted for him the way Arthur lusted for Alfred.

He couldn't know and he would never know.

He would keep his lust and his love locked away inside him as long as it takes.

He would die with his secret, there was no way Alfred could love him the same way.

Now Arthur's mouth was open, pitiful gasps escaping from him.

He so hated this, it tortured him.

All he wanted was Alfred, why did things have to be so hard?

He put all his energy into moving his arm to his face and lifting his head only to realize that there wasn't anything in his hand. Hot tears of anguish and frustration were pouring down his face, sticking to his lashes, dripping down his cheeks leaving a cold streak of tears escaped on his neck. They dampened the starched edges of the collar of his shirt. The hot steamy rush from his eyes left him with nothing but cold tracks of where it had been. It had come and gone so fast.

And now half his glass of whiskey was spilled on the ground. Seeping away between the cracks in the wood

He looked at the liquid that was his friend and his enemy on his hard days it was always there for him, there as a crutch, it was his friend. It let him lean on it. It gave him the freedom to indulge in the fantasies and memories that when he was sober he locked away in a pad locked chest deep somewhere within himself.

And when his friend became tired of helping him, it was gone. Making it his enemy for the very same reason.

Now it was gone. It had left him. It was free from the glass and running rampant.

His whiskey was on the floor.

His sweet friend was on the floor.

His bitchy little enemy was on the floor.

Why.

Why?

'_Why?'_

"Why!"

He yelled at the puddle

His legs were more or less rendered useless

"You bloody asshole"

It had taken his means, it had immobilized him. He tried to move. It was moving away still. It was still spreading across the floor.

He tried to move again.

He yelled again.

He was crying again.

Mumbled slurs of speech came from his mouth. Things that he thought sounded like cusses and 'get back here's' and 'why's' and why Alfred's'.

Well only one was a why Alfred. He was able to sit up, and was about to stand, then he thought of Alfred again.

What Alfred would say if he saw him crying like this, after dropping his whiskey? He was mid stand when he remembered that Alfred already had seen him crying once before, Arthur fell to his knees.

He'd seen him at his absolute worst, Alfred had seen him down on his knees, crying, bloodied, and broken and reduced to that. He was again on his knees crying on the ground because of Alfred, except Alfred wasn't here this time. He wondered how small he'd seem now.

Suddenly Arthur picked up the glass and hurled it at the brick hearth. It hid the bricks and shattered into a thousand pieces. Arthur was sitting on his heels and leaning on his hands. His breathing was heavy and his palms were clammy and cold, and tears still fell from his face.

"Damnit Alfred!"

Again he was reduced to his knees,

Reduced to tears

He fell to his side, practically praying to black out.

This was one of the worst nights he could remember, which wasn't saying much, but it was still worse than many of the nights his memory failed to recollect. Nothing but spilled whiskey, and a broken glass, shards of it lying about was all that came from tonight. Fan-fucking-tastic.

All he wanted was the sweet bliss of nothing that a blackout would bring. To think of nothing. To dream of nothing. To feel nothing. The sweet numbness and absolute mental isolation summoned by an excess of alcohol was all he wanted now.

The ends of his hair dabbed into the thinning puddle beside his head, he stuck his finger into it, then into his mouth, tasting the burn partially created by his mind. He closed his eyes and more tears welled, threatening to fall.

The small amount of alcohol he licked off his fingers would not be enough to send him into a memory erasing black out. It would not be enough to make him forget tonight, or what he thought of tonight.

He got the glass bottle off the table without standing up and took another few gulps from the bottle stopping only when he tilted the bottle too far back that the remaining liquor hit his face.

The same cold comfort of the black barbed arms of safety starts to envelope his senses. He couldn't see much, couldn't think much. Couldn't feel much of the barbs sticking into his body from the threat of a black out, but simply reveled in the comfort of not thinking.

His only thoughts were to not lie on his back, and that it didn't matter because tonight wouldn't be the night, he would remember tonight in the morning. He would not forget the glass. He would not forget his tears, nor would he forget his broken ramblings, to lock his chest of emotions, or to clean the shards of broken glass.

He wouldn't even forget to turn himself over before he passed out. He wouldn't forget anything about tonight. He wouldn't forget any of it tomorrow either. There weren't enough drops in the bucket yet.

He hadn't blacked out nearly enough times he'd need to in order to overshadow how much he loved and adored Alfred. His eyes were closing, he wouldn't forget Alfred.

More tears rolled from his eyes to stain his face, he curled up with his knees close to his chest, and he couldn't think straight enough to figure out why he was crying.

* * *

><p>Hours back in time across the ocean, Alfred was sprinting down his stairs, skipping the last two and stuffing his wallet and phone into his pocket before he hit the ground and grabbed his bags. Running late and making it on time was Alfred's specialty.<p>

He ran out his door in a disheveled mess, bags hanging off his arms with his keys hanging on his teeth trying to close the door with his foot.

"Come on"

Alfred grit through the metal clamped between his teeth. This door was giving him trouble breaking his best time.

The toe of his boot wasn't fitting in the handle and the snow under his other foot wasn't making things any easier, he took a second to shuffle a bit.

"Damnit"

He spat out, dropping his bags letting them roll off the stairs to his porch. He pulled the door shut and locked all the locks.

"fuck fuck fuck."

He said as the cold January air numbed the tips of his fingers and the tops of his knuckles.

"Yes!"

He yelled to himself and grabbed all his bags from the ground, nearly slipping on the melting ice on his way down the steps. He clicked the starter on his keys and got into the drivers seat before the engine could even finish turning over.

Once the lights on the dash turned on and the clock flashed 7:10, he cursed again and drove as well as he could over the mounds of snow in his driveway.

The sun was a bright orange orb over the makeshift wall of maple and pine trees down the road. It lit up the iced over snow like an enormous mirror which made it increasingly hard to see. The sky was devoid of any clouds and he could tell dawn, when he was supposed to wake up, had come and gone a long time ago.

He got to the airport like Arthur had advised him to. Arthur said that he would do something stupid to make him miss a flight that was at an airport further than fifteen minutes away, so he helped him arrange a flight at a local airport that would transfer a few times.

Alfred told him not to worry, that he wouldn't miss the flight that he had nothing to worry about. Now it was 7:30 and his flight was supposed to leave at 7:45.

"If I'm not at this summit on time I will never live this down. Arthur'll be really pissed off too…either that or call me a 'bloody git' or both…I wouldn't doubt it really. Damn, how'd I oversleep, shy didn't my alarm go off?"

He mumbled to himself. Some people stared at him as he rushed towards the counter, but to no avail he got to the gate and dropped his bags waiting for the woman he knew so well.

"Mr. Jones, how are you this morning?"

She asked

"Sorry Niki I don't have the time to explain how crazy this morning has been. I mean, it's only been like, I don't know, a half hour? And I'm already running late. I just need my ticket that will take me to London…eventually. I think it stops in like Florida and Ireland or somethin'."

Niki looked at the schedule.

"Ahh there's no flight to Dublin today Mr. Jones. None that connect to London through Dublin anyway."

Alfred stared at her, wide eyed and panicking, feeling his pulse quicken and his hands shake.

"What do you mean, I have to get to London, Niki, I need to be in London tonight, if there's no flight-"

"Alfred"

Niki spoke gently getting his attention, his words speeding so fast together he was practically begging for something to intervene.

"There's no connecting flight through Dublin, but there's a direct flight to London from LaGuardia in about an hour."

He looked at his phone, it was 7:45. His flight to Florida left at 7:45 gate 16 and it would connect him to Dublin and then to London. He'd gone over it with Arthur and Matthew over a thousand times.

This wasn't right.

"No my flight leaves at 7:45 to Florida and then to Dublin from MacArthur airport."

His voice was being contained, trying not to panic. He started to throw his hands around a little, that's what happens when you have Italians in the world summit, Italian is contagious after all.

Niki sighed.

"Let me see your ticket."

Alfred reached for his wallet and opened it.

No ticket.

He looked in his pocket-

Around the floor...

In his wallet again.

Shit.

He looked back up at Niki desperately. His jaw visibly chattering and eyes wide as saucers, wider than saucers, Comparing them in any way, shape or form to saucers, ice cream saucers to alien saucers, was an understatement.

"Ticket, I can't find my t-ticket! Niki my ticket!"

She closed her eyes in mild frustration, this wasn't the first time shed have to fix a situation for a late and panicked Alfred and she knew it wouldn't be the last.

"Calm down Alfred. This flight is leaving only a little bit later, and it's not going through Dublin or through Florida so you'll get there even faster than you would have."

She made a good point.

He took a deep breath.

"Is that the only flight?"

Putting _clear _emphasis on the 'only', as if she were overlooking something obvious. Really not wanting to stray from the plan.

"Only one until about nine o'clock tonight."

"Shit"

Alfred exhaled, looking around frantically through his thoughts as if he too were overlooking something important. There was just a nagging feeling inside him that he was forgetting something important…

"Fine, but I already paid for my last ticket; do I still have to pay for this one?"

He knew the answer, this has happened all too many times before.

Niki looked up from the computer screen, a look knowing that he knew the answer across her face.

"Mr. Jones…"

He pulled out his wallet again and pulled out the money he had. Not nearly enough, damn.

"You can put it on your card Mr. Jones."

Hesitantly, he pulled out his bank card. It's not that he didn't have the money tucked away for it, but now that he'd have to buy a new ticket, he was cutting it close to the limit he'd set for this trip. Nearly all the money he'd put aside for an emergency was used up now.

He handed her the card and ran his fingers through his hair, attempting a deep breath to calm himself. Niki looked up as she swiped his card and he heard it beep.

"Mr. Jones…"

He looked up at her snapping out of whatever stress induced daze he had been in and let his hair flip back to normal.

"You can relax, you still have money on your card, and now you actually have time to go and check your bags."

She smiled and handed him back his card along with his ticket and boarding pass.

He smiled half heartedly and slid his bank card back into his wallet, he had almost forgotten about his card.

"I didn't think that MacArthur would even fly to LaGuardia, they seem too close."

Alfred said slipping his wallet into the pocket of his coat.

"normally they don't it would be a bit of a waste, but there was a plane that had an emergency while flying in and needed an emergency landing, but they're still headed for LaGuardia."

She looked up at his silence, seeing his panicked expression she quickly clarified.

"No! No! It was nothing incredibly serious, there was a woman who needed medical assistance is all. They thought it was serious, but they landed already and took her to a hospital not too far, the EMT's said she should be fine."

Alfred was visibly relaxed, ever since that incident he's been a little on edges about "emergencies" especially those at airports involving emergency landings.

"Phew, that's good! Are you sure they'll let me on? I mean, aren't they usually kinda picky about letting people on planes like that?"

Niki nodded.

"Yeah, but you are Alfred F. Jones, besides it won't cost any extra time, they still need to wait about a half an hour for a clear runway. You should be fine."

Her smile put him at ease and he nodded.

"Do you at least have your passport with you?"

He felt the same flash of terrified adrenaline rush through him. He moved quickly patting all his pockets until he felt the small book in his back pocket. He let out an unbelievable sigh of relief.

Niki laughed a little taking it for him.

"Alfred"

She said calmly, he looked up at her.

"Breathe"

* * *

><p>Alfred soon found himself sitting on an airplane, a small stop at LaGuardia and he'd be off to London. His bags were checked, he was out more than 400 dollars he hadn't been planning on spending. He had nothing to entertain him besides his own thoughts and the in-flight movie.<p>

After a while, even that started to bore him, he started to realize that he wouldn't get rid of this restless feeling in his gut until he was at the summit in London. Until then he wouldn't feel relieved.

He took a breath and tried to move as close to the window as he could,

All he could see were a few miles of small suburban cities, and a lot of ocean.

* * *

><p>Alfred didn't exactly mind going to England for these summits. The place itself wasn't half bad, he wasn't the biggest fan of all the rain, but hey, he's been to Seattle.<p>

But something about the English rain made him feel different. In the past he'd sit on a bench somewhere in the rain.

People around him in rain coats, some in rubber boots, one older woman had even asked if he wanted her umbrella.

He told her no thanks, looking at her fragile build. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't take an umbrella from that old woman, it just wouldn't be right.

It didn't matter though, because she walked away while it rained and while it rained the water hit his face, and he couldn't help but laugh to himself.

It just felt so _good._

He just kept laughing to himself, and that's all he could do. He sat at a bench for twenty minutes letting the water soak through everything he was wearing before he realized that he'd cried a little bit.

He didn't care though; he wiped his face and just continued to laugh. He couldn't move, it just felt too damn good.

But now it didn't; now it had been the morning from hell and he was the last person to gather his bags from the carousel. Now he'd taken too long to pick up his bags, and too long to get out to the food courts, and too long to leave the lobby.

So now the damn English rain that makes him cry was turning Alfred's morning from bad to worse. Now the rain was soaking through his duffle bags. And _then_ the rain made a puddle nearly a foot deep in a pot hole next to the side walk that Alfred stepped in.

Now the rain made the trunk too slippery for him to lift without making everything else worse. Now the rain made Alfred so incredibly soggy that he got a dirty look from the cab driver for bringing the rain inside his car.

The cab driver took an exaggerated breath after Alfred told him the address of the hotel. It was barely halfway through the day and it felt like the longest day of his life. Not to mention the burger he had gotten back at the terminal tasted nothing like the ones he made back home.

His forehead hit the glass of the window and the chill made him feel a bit better, his eyes opened and he watched the drops roll into one another on the glass, one drop would hit another, and merge with another, and another and some would race each other: but all of them hit the bottom. He pressed his finger against the black lining that brought the window and door together, and a bit of fog gathered around his fingertip.

He laughed a bit to himself, for some reason it was funny and he couldn't deny it.

He did it again and breathed lightly against it to make more fog and drew a tiny happy face in it before it faded away. He laughed again and looked in the rear view mirror to make sure the driver wasn't staring at him or anything. When he wasn't Alfred continued with his fine artistic skills that could only be cultured in New York.

He started writing little notes along the bottom of the glass: 'Alfred wuz here' and 'America rulez' he laughed again as he wrote this on an English taxi. And watched the fog fade and erase his memories. He stole another quick glance at the driver before pressing his entire hand against the window and laughing at the instant field of fog that surrounded it. He breathed even more against it to leave the best mark pressed his hand hard against it and laughed perhaps a little too loudly when he saw the mark on the window.

"Cut it out you stupid git!"

He caught the angry glare from the cab driver before he went back to staring at the road.

'_Yeah the wrong side of the road ya idiot.'_

Alfred thought to himself. He sighed as he leaned close to the window and the remnants of his drawings, though not touching them, and looked at the world around him.

When had everything become such a damn _museum_? You could look all you want but never touch anything. It's like the world is full of wonders and opportunities just outside our reach, but we're never able to go the little bit further to get them. Everything is just out of our reach. We're never allowed to involve ourselves with anything on the other side of the display.

Alfred glared at the driver silently from the corner of his eye.

'_Fuck that'_

He thought, Alfred rolled down the glass and let the rain hit his head, exposing himself to the English city side. Sticking some of his hair together and fogging up his glasses a bit, he took some of the droplets from the window and rubbed it on the back of his neck.

He leaned against the back of the seat letting the rain come in, English rain just felt so good.

If it was all he could do in his life, he'd remove every piece of glass that separated people from their dreams, every barrier that kept a person from touching something. If he could, (and what kind of hero couldn't?) he would remove everything. He'd make damn sure that this world was no longer the museum that it had become.

* * *

><p>The lights were off, there was no TV or radio on, and he had even taken advantage of the blackout shades installed a while ago.<p>

The help had the day off, and all his neighbors were still on vacation. This was a quiet afternoon, yet everything still seemed to drive him crazy.

He even managed to take down the cukoo clock on his wall because it was _ticking too loudly._ He made sure there was no noise as he drank his tea from under a blanket, not even bothering to find a saucer.

Even cursing himself when he slurped too loudly.

He put the cup on his night stand and tried to lay his head down gently, it almost worked.

Until the phone rang, that is.

He groaned in pain, clutching his head.

"Bloody phone, bloody people, bloody assholes."

He held the phone about an inch away from his ear, trying to keep his head from hurting any more than it already did.

"What in bloody hell do you want?" he said exasperated, knowing damn well who was on the other end.

"Arthur, is that any way to answer your phone in the morning?"

He groaned again at the pounding in his head.

"shut up you stupid frog, I asked what you do you want."

He could hear the stupid French man sigh on the other side of the line.

"fine, Arthur, throw away your ideals of chivalry and gentlemanliness just because you have a hangover-"

"spit it out you wanker!"

He heard the same mutterings and another sigh, though all he could decipher from any of it was 'mon Deiu'. The sudden onset of pain made his head hurt from shouting and he whined a bit before Francis decided to speak again.

"I just need to know the name of the hotel we a' supposed to be staying at this time."

He should have known, this was always the case with Francis.

"Haven't I already told you the name of the hotel?"

"Oui! But I lost the paper that I wrote it on.

Arthur sighed, of course he did.

"It's the park lane Francis. The park lane. It's always the park lane, every time meetings with us are held in London it is at the park lane.

"ah oui, oui the park lane, good, that's that then. So why do you sound like you are behind blackout shades this morning?"

Arthur was tempted to hang up the phone, but that would only give him incentive to call back.

"I was drinking last night, so fuck off."

He pulled the cord from the phone and tossed the receiver onto the ground. Groaning and smothering his face with a pillow when the noise threatened to make his had implode.

Oh how he hated the world sometimes.

Francis simply laughed to himself and hung up his phone from within the hotel room.

"Oh Artie, Artie, when ever will you learn"

He stood up and started walking back to his closet resuming hanging up his fabulous attire. Or at least that's what he referred to it as. He hung up maroon, white, red, blue and magenta colored shirts, frilly and not at all professional looking, along with the white and black jackets that would go with any of them. Personally he was very proud with the choices he had made, and planned on standing and adoring the choices that hung in his closet. Until there was a knock on his door; he turned to it in surprise, how dare somebody interrupt his praising of his own fashion expertise?

Despite how appalled he was, he answered the door casually.

"Alo?"

Then realized who it was

"Oh, alo Alfred."

He was much less enthused, and now much more annoyed that he let himself be distracted by _Alfred_, while he could be adoring and planning his outfits.

"Hey Francis!"

He waved nervously with one hand while scratching the back of his head with the other. Still dripping wet from the airport excursion.

"What do you want"

He said with a disgusted expression. It sounded much less like a question than it should have, much more like a hurried response to get rid of somebody.

"well, heh, it seems that I got a little confused, ya see, I thought that tomorrow was today, so I rushed all the way here a day early."

Francis looked completely unaffected.

"oui and?"

"well ya see, I rushed 'cause I thought I'd be late, so I had to buy a new ticket; ya know, so I wasn't late, so then I came here and they said they couldn't put me in my room because someone was still in there and they couldn't force them out just 'cause I showed up early. And since I had to buy another ticket, I didn't have enough money for an extra night here. So I asked if anyone was here yet for the world summit…"

Francis looked at him expectantly, carefully placed between the door and the frame so that Alfred got no idea in his head that he was entering his room. He didn't like the direction of his story. It sounded like Alfred would need a place to stay, and normally he would love to welcome a young lively spirit into his bed for a night…or two; but everybody had a limit, surprisingly, even Francis.

He drew it at obnoxious.

"…and you're the only one that is here yet…"

Obviously Francis wasn't his first choice of companionship. Even asking advice from the over-sexed idiot was like signing his pride away.

Francis didn't do anything for a while, just stood as the barrier between the hall and his room. He wasn't letting a soaking wet American into his room.

"so"

Alfred looked confused

"soooo?"

Francis rolled his eyes.

"so why are you here?"

Francis's accent was thick when he spit the words at Alfred.

Alfred still holding his bags, again, looked hesitant.

Biting his tongue he had to speak, god, why did it have to be _Francis_?

"so I need…h-he-"

He looked up at the man the seemed disgusted with his display. He was such an _asshole. _Who was he to stand there and judge him? No, he thought to himself, calming, he needed help, he couldn't punch Francis in the face

"Help. Yeah, I need your help, I don't know what to do here. My room was paid for with my bank card, I don't have enough cash to stay anywhere else. It's like the world hates me or something, and is out to get me."

Francis closed the door more and laughed to himself. '_That's because half the world does hate you Amerique.'_

"Well you cannot stay with me!"

Alfred looked shocked and started waving his hands. How could he even suggest such a vulgar idea!

"no! no! no! Oh GOD no! that not what I meant- I meant I tried calling Arthur a few minutes ago and his line was busy and I just tried again and it was dead. So I didn't know who else to ask."

Francis took a step away from blocking his door, relieved.

"You called Arthur?"

Alfred nodded.

"And he did not answer?"

He shook his head no.

_Of course_

Francis laughed to himself a bit, Arthur would never change.

"Then just go to his house! He does not live that far from here, take a cab to his house and just stay there for the night."

Alfred nodded more to himself, as if accepting an idea he had already thought up.

"You don't think he'll be annoyed?"

He asked Francis raising his head up, knowing that he most likely would be annoyed with him showing up without notice. And not quite caring at this point, he was going to Arthur's one way or another, his only other options were to either stay with Francis or rob a bunch of hobos and spend the night at a crummy motel.

And he would rather spend the night in prison for getting caught robbing hobos than share anything with Francis. Even if he wasn't a smelly frog who couldn't stop an army of suburban ants in front of him, Francis wouldn't allow him to spend a night here anyway.

Arthur's it was.

Besides, his phone wasn't working, he had no money, Francis wasn't an option, he wouldn't be useful as anything more to him than a phone call at this point. What else was he supposed to do?

Francis shook his head slightly to say 'no', his wavy hair flowing around his shoulders.

"Do not worry silly Alfred, I'm sure Artie would simply love the company this evening."

He said with a sly smile that sort of creeped Alfred out.

Around him at least, Francis had two settings, Alfred liked to call them SIFA and SFF. SIFA stood for Stupid Insulting French Asshole, whereas SFF stood for Scheming French Freak. Neither of which Alfred particularly cared to be in the company of, both of them made him uncomfortable in one way or another.

"ya think?"

Alfred asked, giving him an incredulous look, this sneaky French worm was up to something. Still, he couldn't hope but sound hopeful, it was probably nothing incredibly important, it was France after all, Alfred laughed it off internally

Francis smiled, he knew Alfred was unfortunately not a complete idiot, however, he was too naïve to truly question people's motives. So convinced that everyone would play by _his_ rules of what was he considered "just".

"Oui! You know Artie, he acts so mean and tough but he is really just a sweet little school girl beneath his grumpy old surface."

He ended with a sickeningly charming look on his face, Alfred assumed he took too much pleasure imagining Arthur as a "sweet little school girl". He took a step back and laughed a bit.

"yeah! You don't have to tell me twice, he tries to act all strong, but he's not all that tough really."

His face brightened remembering a few stories Francis had told him to humiliate Arthur in the past when they were on better terms.

"oui! He is just a pansy!"

Alfred let out another boisterous laugh that echoed a bit down the hallway. Francis bit his cheek a little, he really hated spending even the least bit of time in Alfred's company, but he did love to torment Arthur in any way possible, and sending an obnoxiously loud American over to his home when Arthur was painfully hung over seemed just the antic to satisfy him for tonight.

Though he did hate that it had to involve Alfred going to see him

"I know! But hey you're one to talk"

Alfred caught his attention with these words. Eyes sharp on the American, and Alfred already began to notice the shift to SIFA.

"excusez-moi? What is that supposed to mean?"

Alfred laughed a bit, and as much as he enjoyed sharing a good laugh with anyone really, it _was _Francis . It would be incredibly out of character to leave any encounter with him on good terms.

He could see the defensive change in him and laughed as Francis put his hands on his hips and stood waiting for an answer.

"I mean, come on! You're calling him a pansy when you lost to him how many times?"

He laughed a little and France seemed to grow even more angry.

"I did not always lose to him!"

Alfred was on the verge of hysterics, they were fighting like children.

"that's right! It took you a hundred years to win one war against him right?"

He couldn't hold back his laughter as it seemed to overcome him, repeating one of Arthurs own jokes. They loved to mock Francis sometimes, and mocking the hundred years war was one of his favorites, that, and the reason why Jesus wasn't found in France. But those are stories from many nights ago and now Francis was fuming.

Alfred doubled over in laughter practically on the floor already when he heard the door slam.

Francis stood on the other side of his door gritting his teeth in aggravation, how dare that idiot American! How dare he! Who did he think he was? He had no business even being on his figurative door step for the time being.

And now he was going to go see Arthur and he knew exactly how things would play out.

Arthur would be incredibly annoyed, Francis would live happily and know Arthur would suffer, and they would end up walking into the conference tomorrow together.

But he knew that Arthur had a soft spot for Alfred, he knew it and he hated it beyond all else. How could he tolerate Alfred! Even now he could still hear him through the hotel door, and he had to do everything in his power not to strangle the man. And Arthur would allow him to stay in his house? The idea seemed preposterous to him.

Alfred finally raised himself up, red faced and cheeks hurting from laughter, he opened up his eyes to see what he expected, that France would have slammed the door on him. Jeez it was just a joke.

He heard the dead bolt slam and started to pick up the bags he had dropped in his antics, ready to walk back to the elevator. Only then remembering a cab, he would need one to get to Arthur's, it was sort of, kinda a forty minute walk from here…

He managed to get his phone out of his pocket as he slung a final bag over his shoulder. Oh yeah, it was dead.

His head fell back as he wobbled in place for a minute,

"fuck"

He looked around and started knocking on Francis's door again. Maybe the spineless French jerk had gotten over it. He knocked a little louder and spoke through the door, trying his very best to sound sincerely sorry.

"Francis~ can I borrow your phone?"

After that there was a slur of undistinguishable mutterings from behind the door along with a faint and muffled

"fuck off Alfred!"

Alfred pulled away sharply from the door making a disgusted face at it. He never knew why Francis had to be such a jerk _all _the time. Out of every single person he could think that he had ever met, Francis was the only one who could continuously be a jerk to him.

Aside from the whole statue of liberty thing anyway. But still.

He walked down the hall towards the elevator mumbling about how he would just have to ask that receptionist for their phone.

Behind the closed door however Francis was fuming. It baffled him how Alfred could be so dense. He was such an idiot, so oblivious, either that or he really was just a terrible, spoiled, little brat.

He never understood how so many people could look at him and not be appalled. He never understood how Arthur could stand to be in the same room as him, how he could stand to spend time with him, how he could stand to share things with Alfred.

Yet he could barely seem congenial with Francis himself.

Francis never understood how Arthur could think the both of them so horrible, yet regard Alfred so much higher than himself. It angered him more than he could think to comprehend, yet he had just sent Alfred straight to him.

Francis sat on his bed and picked up his phone and thought to himself that if he couldn't keep Alfred away from Arthur, then he could at least keep him away from his phone. He dialed and began to laugh at himself for how incredibly stupid that sounded in his own ears.

* * *

><p>Nothing was on the TV, there was the news of course, but Arthur had little patience for the droll voices of news casters this evening. He'd slept away half the morning, taken a shower, watched a few movies, attempted to reassembled the cuckoo clock he'd received as a gift so many years ago, and had eaten dinner.<p>

His headache was at least down to a tolerable throbbing now, and as long as things weren't blaring loud he could keep his kitchen lit with something brighter than a few candles.

He had finished putting his own dishes away when his doorbell rang, the obnoxious noise making him wince. He took another sip of tea and went to answer it, but no amount of recuperation would have prepared him for this.

"ARTIE!"

Alfred dropped his bags in the doorway and hugged Arthur in a way that could have been construed as assault.

Arthur had no idea what he was going to do, the silken desires of his drunken ramblings still fresh and intoxicating in his mind as he felt Alfred's body pressed to his. He knew though that was in no way what Alfred had intended the actions to mean, but still, he couldn't help but want to keep Alfred against him like this for as long as he could.

But that wasn't what was going to happen.

"Get off of me you bloody git!"

Arthur yelled through Alfred's smothering attack, pushing him off.

"I tried to call you earlier Artie, but your phone wouldn't pick up." Arthur could have slapped himself for unplugging his phone now.

"Damn frog."

He muttered under his breath, Alfred looked on in confusion

"What?"

He asked, a puzzled look crossing his face. Arthur shook it off remembering Alfred was still in his doorway not a few inches away, not like he could forget really…

"N-nothing! But do you think that just because you couldn't reach me that it was perfectly acceptable to come barreling in my home like a soaking wet buffoon?"

He put his hands on his hips and tried to stand defensively between Alfred and the rest of his house, trying desperately to seem intimidating enough to keep him out.

Again, not going to work very well. Alfred moved inside from the lit porch dragging in rain as he walked, not noticing Arthurs attempts to keep him out.

"I came a day early by mistake…"

He was starting to stuff his gloves in his pockets, he laughed as Arthur slowly gave up his unspoken protests to keep him out.

"Get your bloody bags out of the door way I don't want all this rain in my house."

Alfred beamed and kicked his duffle bags in and took his jacket off.

Alfred smiled watching Arthur close the door behind him. He could always count on him, even if he did yell, nag and claim to hate him all the time. Alfred could always turn to Arthur.

Even if Arthur was slamming the door in a supposed rage, he could have easily been just as rude as Francis and made sure Alfred was on the other side of it.

He felt a familiar rush of warmth flood his body, but that was obviously because he was in a house with probably like, ten fireplaces going and he had just taken of his soaking wet coat. That is obviously the only reason why.

"jeez man sorry, I just got in! gimme a sec!"

He smiled a little and dropped his jacket against the wall with the rest of the bags

"Well hurry up! Just because the bloody weather has to be down pouring half the time doesn't mean I want the inside of my home to become a bloody aquarium!"

Alfred spun around like he was on the verge of a great breakthrough.

"oh my God! That would be so cool! If we could turn your house into an aquarium? You gotta admit that would be the sickest thing ever! People would come from all over to see the human aquarium!"

With the last part of the sentence he moved his hands and arms in a semicircle above his head as if it were to be a fancy attraction sign. The look on arthur's face was a bit less amused.

"That has to be the absolute most ridiculous thing that you have ever said Alfred, and I have heard you say a lot of things." Alfred frowned,

"Oh lay off it Arthur! You know it would be so cool!" Arthur shook his head at the American.

"You're not actually considering turning my home into an aquarium are you Alfred?"

Alfred shook his head and made a leap for the kitchen.

"It wouldn't be that hard! Just turn on all the sinks! The bath tubs! You have a garden hose don't you? And weren't there a few skylights on the second fl-"

"Are you completely mad! We are not turning my home into an aquarium! Do you even have a clue as to how high the water bill would be to maintain something like that?"

Alfred made a pleading look like he had already thought it all out, opening his arms to the side.

"but Arthur, the _profits"_

Arthur was about to pull his hair out.

"My ass the profits! People would not pay to come see a damaged home filled with water!"

Alfred doubled over for a second laughing,

"Arthur, you would be _surprised_ what people pay to see in this world."

"The only thing that still manages to surprise me in this world is how much of a complete idiot you can be!"

Alfred looked offended, and shrugged back as if wounded.

"Arthur! I'm surprised at you! That was mean! I was just making a business proposition, you could have just said no."

"I DID SAY NO!"

Alfred just laughed and patted him on the head,

"Hey Arthur did you ever notice when you get really mad your face looks all red? Kinda like an apple, or maybe a tomato!"

He kept laughing as Arthur face palmed, he could tell already this was going to be a very interesting night. But at least Alfred's nonsensical babbling had been enough to take his mind off of his depressing thoughts of the night before.

* * *

><p>Arthur's living room was comfortable and warm, despite its old Victorian feel that was constant throughout the house. Normally that kind of stuff made Alfred feel cold and like the whole place was untouchable, but not when he was under a warm blanket drinking instant coffee at Arthur's. Then it almost felt like it was his second home.<p>

"So tell me exactly how you managed to strand yourself in the middle of England?"

Arthur took a sip of his tea and set it down on the small table between them, watching as Alfred slurped a bit of his coffee. He could be so rude sometimes, and he didn't even realize it.

"it's kind of a long story…"

Alfred said not looking up from the dark fluid, then taking another sip as Arthur eyed him precariously.

"so sum it up" he said shrugging as he took another sip of tea, and Alfred looked up to meet his eyes.

Alfred was leaning his elbows on his knees holding his coffee cup between his hands, he didn't really want to explain his whole story again but if he needed to…

"well I thought today was tomorrow. So I rushed through everything and bolted over here."

He looked to Arthur expectantly, half expecting an insult, half hoping for a smile.

Arthur smiled making Alfred raise an eyebrow.

"you really are an idiot Alfred."

And strangely enough he got both.

* * *

><p>Arthur groaned and rubbed his temple trying to subdue the…rather sudden onslaught of pain in his head. Where it had come from was a <em>complete <em>mystery.

"What's wrong with you?"

Alfred asked lounging in the chair across from England. Really, Arthur wondered what was wrong with Alfred sometimes, maybe all his fantastical stories about aliens were true and he had been replaced with a pod person.

Honestly the boy sat there as if he were trying to lie down in it. If there was another chair in front of him he could make himself a bed. His head was against the back, and his back was against the seat, letting his legs open and stretch out in front of him.

He sure knew how to make himself at home.

Arthur sat up straighter and crossed his legs gentlemanly in front of him.

"Just a bit of a headache"

He took another sip of tea and Alfred eyed his coffee before he eyed Arthur sleepily. Really it had been such a hard day, rushing, stressful, plus the clothes he had on were still damp and some of the clothes he had in his bags were wet too. It sure as hell was annoying sit in soaking wet boxers for half the day.

"Why."

Arthur lifted his eyes from his tea and looked at Alfred incredulously - he hated it when Alfred got tired. It was as if any bit of intelligence seemed to slip from his brain at that point.

He sighed

"just a bit too much to drink I guess."

Alfred sat up in his chair a bit, resting his arms on the arms of the chair.

"What, you went to a party or somethin'?"

The look on Alfred's face made Arthur roll his eyes, why is it that every time he mentioned to Alfred that he had been drinking, he assumed that Arthur had been to a party?

"No you dolt! I was just, just drinking on my own"

Arthur delicately avoided the fact that it was because of Alfred that it became such an intense night.

Alfred slouched down in his chair again losing interest in what he thought could have been an interesting story. He laughed a bit after a second of thinking about it though.

"Yeah, even if you can party, you're a bit of a lightweight."

"you idiot I am not!"

Arthur was outraged, Alfred could only laugh. Even if Arthur knew it, it's not like he would go around bragging that he was a lightweight.

"yes you are, how else could you manage to get such a bad hangover?"

Arthur groaned and put his tea down to clench his head.

"stop yelling you brat, you're only making it worse!"

He kept rubbing his temples, trying to repel the dull pounding in his skull, the memories of the night before waiting on edge to come back.

"sorry Artie, so…uh, yeah, can I crash here then?"

Arthur picked his head up, an astounded look on his face.

"Are you asking me to stay here?"

Alfred looked confused but nodded any way looking around the room before settling on Arthur.

"…yeah, why? Did I not say something?"

Arthur shook his head as he sat on the edge of his chair.

"no, I mean…it's just. Are you actually _asking _me?"

Alfred nodded the same way again, only with a slight smile picking at only one corner of his mouth.

"yeah, well I'll end up crashing here anyway, we both know that, I mean it's not like you'd throw me out in the rain like a smelly cat or something…"

Arthur narrowed his eyes a bit as he looked on at Alfred, completely ruining the moment with his smelly animal analogies.

"…but I mean, you said you had a headache, so I thought I'd act nice and ask. I mean isn't that the _heroic_ thing to do?"

He ended with a beaming smile and a bit of a chuckle sitting up in his chair. Arthur couldn't tell whether he should be annoyed and roll his eyes or appreciate Alfred's sudden acknowledgement of his feelings.

He couldn't quite decide, so all he said was

"fine"

Alfred perked up out of his seat.

"really you're gonna let me stay?"

Arthur nodded pressing his fingers to his forehead again, a helpless attempt to keep his headache at bay.

"yes I'll let you stay."

Alfred jumped up out of his seat and bounced the short distance between them and grabbed the top of Arthur's head and kissed it.

"haHA I knew I could count on you Artie! You'd never let me down!"

Arthur made a move to swat the man above his head but it was too late as the hasty American was already grabbing his bags and bounding up the small half flight of stairs to the second floor.

"I'll just crash on the couch in your office-library thingy, 'kay Artie?"

Arthur continued to rub away the pain in his head as it started to die down.

"can't you ever just stay in the guest room I have?"

He stood and walked over to Alfred's bomber jacket that he'd left in the hall, it had to be an extra ten pounds now that it had been soaked through and through with rain. How long had he been outside for exactly? He was exhausted he should sleep in a _bed_ not on a bloody couch.

He held it out in front of him examining some of the more worn spots with stitching in it and a few small medals dangling from it, and began to remember back to that first day that he had worn it at the movie.

Back then it was so clean, fresh, he could practically smell the new leather as Alfred had given him a quick hug goodbye, as he always did.

He looked at it now, old and weather beaten, and brought it closer to his face.

All he could smell was the English rain and traces of Alfred so deeply embedded into it that no matter what happened they would stay within it.

Again flashes of that night at the movies so many decades ago started making their way through his mind.

Then he remembered why that particular memory was so fresh in his mind.

He dropped the jacket to the ground, and jumped over it to the stairs, taking them two at a time, trying desperately to fool himself into thinking that he could get to his study before Alfred.

"Wait! Alfred!"

He looked down the hall but couldn't see Alfred, and light from the study was streaming into the dark hallway from the open doors.

"Alfred!"

He had to grab onto the door frame to stop his momentum mid-sprint and caught his breath as he looked at Alfred, who had dropped his bags to take in the sight.

The rain was beating heavily against the far window that had blinded Arthur into waking up this morning. It was so loud that it almost completely muted any noise in the room.

But none of this was the reason for why both men stood frozen in place. Alfred saw by the dim glow of the fire that hadn't been stoked in hours, the random spread of broken glass. Crystalline shards reflecting small bits of light from the fire, making it seem like it was spreading across the floor.

The couch was obviously moved out of place, as if it had been carelessly pushed about. Not too far away from that, he could see the tray of tumblers and shot glasses in disarray. Then the empty bottle laying on its side, remnants of a small puddle on the carpet. The entire room took on an eerie, unwonton feeling that Alfred had never felt there before.

Arthur's study was his favorite room here it had always been a calming place for him…

Now it was under a heavy blanket of suffering that was stifling to him and he couldn't shake it.

He turned his head over his shoulder to look back at the Englishman he knew was standing behind him, and Arthur couldn't deny the pain and guilt he felt when he saw Alfred's face.

Alfred turned his head back towards the mess Arthur had neglected to clean.

"Alfred."

Arthur took a step towards him and hesitated before continuing.

"…why don't you just stay in the guest room tonight."

The fact that Arthur wanted to pretend as if he had never seen the physical manifestation of what Arthur's pain was made Alfred cringe. And Arthur saw the movement, it made him hesitate when he reached his hand out to Alfred's shoulder, but he continued.

Alfred flinched and the cold shiver reverberated through his bones as he felt Arthur's hand on him and he turned to the man.

"Arthur, what happened?"

Their eyes connected and he tried to look Arthur straight in the eye.

The panic flooding through Arthur's body numbed him, he couldn't speak, when he tried the air rushed out of his lungs, he couldn't find words to convey his feelings right then and there. The intensity of Alfred's gaze was enough to silence any excuse he could come up with.

"I…n - nothing happened."

His voice was fairly normal, uncertain sounding maybe, but it was painfully obvious to anyone, even Alfred, to whom all emotional atmospheres were invisible, that he was not okay, and that obviously something had happened. It lacked its normal intensity, it sounded like a thick curtain being pulled over something that had shattered all over the floor…

"what are you talking about you b-bloody fool. Come now, you can stay in the guest room."

Alfred reached back and touched Arthur's hand with his own and pulled Arthur's hand off his own shoulder.

"Arthur, what did you do?"

He didn't let go, and Arthur could feel his pulse start to race and his body start to shake, he never wanted Alfred to know that he actually cared. He was supposed to have buried these feelings of admiration a long time ago.

Arthur tried to pull out of Alfred's grasp, but he would only let go after he took another step closer to him.

"… I told you, I was drinking last night."

He tried to say it in a way that would convince Alfred to drop the subject, but his voice was nowhere near as reassuring it would need to be to convince Alfred. Besides, once Alfred dedicated himself to something, he wouldn't stop no matter how much somebody told him to stay away.

Alfred scoffed a little under his breath, not a bit of it conveying ill intentions.

"you wouldn't smash a glass to a thousand pieces if you were '_just drinking_'…"

He took another step towards him trying to make Arthur look him in the eyes.

"Arthur, what did you do?"

Arthur averted his eyes, maybe it would help him to ignore the concern he could hear in Alfred's voice.

"I was drinking last night, I got a little carried away and hurled the glass at the wall ok? Now drop it."

He still wouldn't look at Alfred as he started to walk towards the door.

But it wouldn't be like Alfred to stop now with someone still in need walking away when he knew something could be done to fix it.

He could always do something to fix a situation.

" I can't just drop it Arthur, wha-"

Arthur spun to face him, looking more upset than Alfred had ever seen him.

" I told you! I told you what I did you idiot! I drank an entire bottle of whiskey last night, got too drunk and hurled a glass at the wall before I passed out! What more do you want from me Alfred?"

He was out of breath and Alfred took a few hesitant steps towards him. He didn't want to sound like he was yelling at Arthur, it just happened sometimes when he got a little excited.

"I want to know why Arthur! Why the fuck did you do that? Why did you drink so much, why did you break that glass?"

He took a breath and let his arms he hadn't realized he been waving a little, fall back to his sides.

Leave it to Alfred to need to know _why_. Other countries were about the who, the what, the when, the where, even the how much, but Alfred had _always_ been about the why.

Arthur's only reply was with what he could muster as a scowl, a warning to just leave the topic alone. He couldn't take any more talking about this.

"why would you care? Alfred, just let it go."

Great, now he was starting with the 'why'.

In Alfred's mind this was impossible to let go, he cared too much about Arthur to let this go by unattended. If he did, Arthur would continue to hurt, and that's something Alfred couldn't bear to see anyone do, especially Arthur.

He'd seen it once, and it killed him every day of his life to know that he was the one who pushed him that far.

He would never allow Arthur to hurt that way again.

"why do I care? Why? Because I do, I-I just do"

he slapped himself in his head for not being able to find the right words.

Arthur shook his head slightly, there was no way Alfred meant that the same way he felt it, but thinking even that much made his insides ache, and he found his eyes searching aimlessly for another bottle of whiskey.

"shut up Alfred, just pick up your bags and stay in the guest room."

Alfred felt himself on the brink of his control, he had an overwhelming feeling to just grab him and show him what he meant.

He tried to keep himself balanced, but Arthur refused to at least acknowledge the fact that he cared for him.

"why don't you accept that I care about you? Is it that hard to believe?"

He grabbed onto Arthur's shoulders so that he would have to look into his eyes, and what Arthur saw crushed him a little. The look of distress that wasn't there before, it tore his insides down the middle, he closed his eyes and tried to speak but nothing came out.

When he didn't say anything, Alfred did.

"Because I do care about you, more than anything, Arthur, you don't need to do this to yourself, just open your damn eyes."

Arthur couldn't take it, this was too much pressure for his body, and mind, to handle.

He did as he was told and a few tears fell from his eyes.

With that, things seemed to take on an odd calm, Alfred watched as the ghostly tears slid down his cheeks.

"no."

His voice shook, and he wiped the tears away with his thumb.

"That's not what I meant."

His eyes were wide and some of his words seemed to be harshly croaked out instead of actually being spoken.

He moved his other hand to hold Arthur's face and wiped the rouge tears away as well.

"I didn't want you to cry Arthur, I just wanted you to see."

Looking at Alfred he could see, he could always see Alfred. He loved him, he knew that, more than anything in the world, but he could never tell him that. He looked at Alfred and that's what he saw, a possibility for something he could never have, the hope for something he knew he would never reach.

"I don't want you to cry Arthur."

Alfred's heart felt like it had frozen and was cracking inside his chest. Splitting into hundreds of tiny pieces that he couldn't put back together, waiting for something to hit it and force it to shatter.

He looked at Arthur's face, now slightly angry and tear stricken, he loved him, he wanted nothing more than for Arthur to know that.

Even if he didn't quite understand how he loved Arthur, but he could understand a certain extent of his feelings, and from what he could understand he felt strangely at ease around him. He felt happier, a bit more open even, or at least like Arthur understood him. Or at least he had thought that Arthur understood him, now that Alfred knew Arthur had no idea that Alfred loved him in any kind of way, he wasn't so sure. What he could be sure of is that he cared for Arthur, and it had been very hard to hold back on all his impulsive actions.

He was never any good at restraining himself.

He just wanted to be with Arthur, in every way he could make that sentence apply; and Arthur wasn't even able to accept that Alfred cared for him.

So Arthur cried.

And Alfred had caused it.

Arthur pushed him away.

"shut up! Just, shut up! You don't know what you're talking about Alfred! You don't know what happened, and you'll never be able to grasp it. So just shut up -you'll never understand."

Alfred's heart was a pile of broken shards sitting in the pit of his stomach, but he kept them all together and would piece it back piece by piece and bloody his fingers to the bone if it meant Arthur would take it and keep it for himself.

He thought of the broken glass next to the fireplace, and something inside his mind clicked.

Arthur's heart was broken too.

Alfred looked back at him and let everything fall away, every bit of his façade.

He felt his own body start to shake as it had in the airport, only entire body was shaking, and standing was a task.

He did though, he did understand.

He knew what Arthur was trying to say, but Arthur was wrong, he knew what he was feeling.

He knew why Arthur had smashed the glass.

He had crushed his own heart to keep anyone else from crushing it.

In Arthur's head, the glass smashed against the fireplace repeatedly, like a broken record it played again and again.

The smashing clink of the shards hitting the floor was all he could hear. It was a sound that made his brain hurt, his head felt like it was constricting and all he wanted to do was hit his head against the ground and make it all go away.

His knees were weak with the overwhelming anxiety he felt. He hated this hopeless feeling.

Arthur could feel himself sway a little bit under the pressure.

It was raining outside and Alfred was here.

He felt as if he was about to fall to his knees again, and again he would lose his honor in front of Alfred.

But his eyes opened in surprise, he wasn't on the floor.

Alfred was behind him, arms around him and at this point, holding him up.

Arthur tried to turn his head but his body was held still in Alfred's grasp. Once he could feel his feet on the ground again, he could feel all of Alfred around him.

He could feel Alfred's arms curling around his body he could feel the rise and fall of his chest against his back. He could feel his breath on the back of his neck, and the gentle unintentional touches of Alfred's lips against his skin.

He shuddered lightly and felt himself move instinctively backwards into Alfred's grasp trying to feel the faint touches again.

But instead he felt hot breath and the movement of Alfred's lips.

"…I'm sorry…"

Alfred pulled Arthur even closer to him, and buried his face into the back of his neck. Feeling Alfred's face against him in such a way, it made his longing to hold Alfred against him grow.

It was all he could think about until he felt the heat from Alfred on the back of his neck, and the weight from Alfred pressing on him.

His grip on Arthur had lessoned and was free to turn into him.

He felt like it was years ago again, he wiped his tears as he had years ago, then pulled him into his chest.

Maybe Alfred understood more than he gave him credit for.

They both smiled, they understood.

Arthur looked up at Alfred, trying to ignore the residue from the tears he'd been crying.

They were even.

Arthur leaned up and placed a soft kiss on his lips.

Alfred barely seemed to register but let his eyes close.

His lips were so soft, but the feeling he felt when they touched was enough to give him chills up his spine. He wanted to pull closer, but he let their lips drift apart and his eyes opened.

They had only started leaning away before Alfred pulled him back into his chest for another kiss.

He wrapped his arms so tightly around Arthur he felt as if he could never let him go, not like Arthur would want him to either. He had his own arms making their way around Alfred's body both of them refusing to let the other go. It was a thought completely alien to both of them.

Their gentle kisses developed into something more of a passionate need. The once stunned pair of men were completely submerged in the presence of the other, and it was as if nothing could come between them.

It was as if there were no longer two separate beings, it was more like one general embodiment of feeling and love - as if they had merged.

Not obviously or physically like a deformed science project, but emotionally, two souls had finally united and they could never be pried apart again.

And that's exactly why they couldn't be together.

They both knew, and they both understood what they were. They were people with feelings, but they were countries nonetheless, and that was a blazing fact that could not be ignored. A public declaration of a union such as this would result in a worldwide upset. Not just among their group of obscure "friends", but for hundreds of millions of people.

They both knew this, and they understood.

So they would take this night for themselves. They would indulge in their fantasies and longings, into each other.

They were already too far to go back.

The men grew closer and with every touch a new level of feeling evolved.

Tonight was theirs tonight they could be one heart. They could act as recklessly as they wanted.

Just one night.

And tomorrow…

Well when tomorrow came, tomorrow would be dealt with.

Tonight would be just another drop in the bucket

But this time it would be just enough. Just enough to send them over the edge, without a care of what tomorrow would bring.

End~


End file.
